Dark Passengers
by NurseLintu
Summary: Dexter takes a personal interest in the Winchester brothers and their strange friend in the trench coat. I think these two shows should cross over... (: Reviews, suggestions etc. welcome (:
1. Dodgy Folk In Dodgy Bars

_**So, I am HOOKED on Supernatural, and I am HOOKED on Dexter. Misha and Jensen are just perfect. Dean and Cas are adorable. And I guess our little Sammy is a honey too ^-^ Dexter is strangely awesome. I LOVE Rita, but I have chosen to use the latest version of Cas – post wall and wotnot, where he's a little away with the fairies, coz I could just squish him, and it works best with the idea I have, and I didn't want to pinch the timeline of the other story, which is pre-Harrison, so I'll try fit in some Harrison somewhere! – I know someone else has written Supernatural/Dexter crossover, and it is blummin AMAZING! I wanted to make sure I didn't rip off her story in any way, so I've had to tweak this quite a bit to make sure [= I will say I have a heck of a lot of work to try and write anything even half as good as Unique, and I have no doubt I can't do it ;) But this little muse of Dean, Cas, Sam and Dex alllll being together (a fair bit of yum I must say) just wouldn't leave me alone. Heh, I think it should happen. It really should. But it won't. So I'm going to do it for them [= As has claudiapriscus **_

_**I think I am working from end of season 7 of Supernatural (pre Dean and Das as my son calls them [= being in Purgatory) and some point in season 5 of Dexter, after poor Rita has died, but before Deb gets promoted, so LaGuerta is still our Lieutenant! **_

_**Enough of my rabbiting on. I hope I've done a good job [= I know it's a strange crossover, and I don't expect to get half as much interest as Unique, because quite frankly I'm crap at writing ^-^ But this has been a fun little idea I thought I'd share with the world anyway [=**_

_**Enjoy my lovelies x x**_

_Tonight's the night. And it's going to happen again and again. It has to happen._

Dexter has pinpointed his target, and he is watching him mosey around the bar, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Carlos Mantio approaches the bar and leans against it next to Dexter, who offers him a timid smile. "Prices here are good, huh?" He fakes being more drunk than he really is, drooping his eyelids and swaying in the chair slightly. "And the _chicks_..." He chuckles drunkenly and waits for a reaction from his next project. He doesn't get much more than a disapproving look as Mantio collects his drinks and returns to his table. "Nice guy," Dexter mutters to himself, mentally replaying the man's sins in his head. Rape and first degree murder, charges dropped because of a faulty search warrant. He hadn't stopped there. He had continued his little out of hours activities, picking up school girls, claiming to be a photographer for some preppy magazine, and he'd take them back to his little 'office' and rape them. Some he let go, others he didn't. All Dex knows is that he needs to be stopped. And there's only one sure fire way to do that.

With his project showing no signs of departure any time soon, Dexter absently looks around the busy bar, silently judging everyone he sees. The women all seem to be competing over who can wear the most revealing outfit, and the men seem to be competing over who can get the most women rubbing against them at any one time. The thought of it makes Dexter shudder. Sure he knows a pretty face when he sees one, and a smoking hot body when he sees one, but he doesn't feel the need to offer it any more than a quick look over. All that leads to his sex and feelings and a whole mess of emotions from a woman that Dexter simply can't understand nor reciprocate. On the flip side, he saves a lot of money with his lack of porn and other sexual services Miami has to offer. His eyes fall upon two shady looking guys sitting in a more secluded area of the bar, each holding a pint glass half full of beer, and looking around the room with keen, trained eyes. He feels his senses go on to red alert as he watches the longer haired guy stand up and trade a wordless glance with the shorter haired guy, and with a nod from each party, they set off in opposite directions, sweeping round the edge of the bar, clearly looking for something in particular. Drug dealers? Debt collectors? Some dodgy character's lackeys? Dexter watches them for a moment longer as they meet at their original spot, trading hushed words and shaking their heads in turn. He can now see that the long haired guy is substantially larger then the short haired guy, but they both share similar soft, attractive facial features, and from what Dexter can tell in the dim light of the bar, very similar hair color. Brothers? Cousins? Somehow the first option seems more plausible to Dexter. He watches for a moment longer as the men finish their drinks and drop a tip, leaving swiftly through the front door, both moving in such a way, calculated, stealthy, ready to jump in to combat at a moment's notice, that Dexter feels drawn to them both. Something about the shorter one's face is bugging him, but before his mind has a chance to kick in, his current project finally gets to his feet, tapping a cigar on the table and indicates the back door, presumably heading out for a smoke. Behind the bar is a back alley that has a nasty reputation for being an area where people get mugged and women get raped, so people tend to avoid it unless they are armed or part of a crowd. Dexter smiles and finishes his drink. Perfect.

Dexter glances around to ensure he's attracted no attention, then moves swiftly out of the bar and begins tracking his prey. He follows Mantio in a predatory fashion down between a laundromat and a pizza parlor, and slips his hand in to his pocket, fingers closing around the syringe, thumb at the ready to slip the cap off the needle. He freezes for a brief moment as shadows cross over him and his eyes scan the vicinity, looking for the interlopers whom he can hear holding a hushed conversation that sounds vaguely like a disagreement, but he can't pick out exact words to piece together what it might be about. The voices are coming from a side alley opposite Dexter, and he curses internally as Harry's voice sounds in his head "The first rule of The Code, Dex,"

"I know," Dexter whispers in reply as he knocks up to a trot closing the gap between himself and Mantio and allowing himself an extra couple of seconds to drag his body out of sight and cram it in to the dumpster he has managed to procure from a slightly busier alley. His car isn't far away, and it will only take him a matter of seconds to make the transfer with Matino's body from dumpster to the back of his car. His ears stay on red alert tuning themselves in to every sound around him as he closes in on his next victim, his Dark Passenger taking over him completely as he goes in to full predator mode.

_Tonight's the night._

**I must apologize that most of these will probably be quite short chapters, just because it seems to be working out that way! I hope I can manage to please [= I am actually writing this whilst waiting in one of my best friends' house for her to have her little boy! I shall be looking after her 2 year old daughter whilst she's in hospital, so I imagine with a 2 year old and a 1 year old I shan't have much time to write/update ^-^ Still. It'll be worth it when likkle baba comes home! *excited *!**


	2. The Boys Love A Crime Scene

**Just a likkle one. Need to introduce more characters and storyline so y'all can see where this is headed [= Hope you're enjoying so far.**

Dexter watches the people as they pick out their chosen pastries from his box. He watches as they smile at him, ask how he and Harrison are, and he replies as cheerily as he deems _normal_. People ask about Harrison, and he replies in the positive, offering tid bits of his latest development milestones as any normal parent would. Masuka dishes out yet another sleazy joke as he takes his choice donut, which Dexter rewards with a stiff nod of the head and something resembling a throaty chuckle. Angel informs Dexter that he needs his report on the Allen Case by lunch, then he thanks him for his donut and invites him out for drinks and strippers. He seems to think that now Rita is gone, Dexter needs to find some sort of replacement for her. Apparently his idea of a replacement involves scantily clad, large breasted women grinding themselves on a man's lap, but Dexter fails to see the appeal in it. He weasels out of it with the excuse of Harrison's Nanny having a date. Angel accepts it with a nod and a disappointed smile, that doesn't quite reach his eyes and Dexter thinks if he had feelings, he might feel guilty right about now, maybe sorry for Angel. Still. He has work to do, and Deb is strutting up to him, snatching a donut and some manner of information is coming out of her mouth between the variety of profanities, and Dexter must bring himself out of Dexter Land and back in to the real world.

"... The fuckin' _heart _has been ripped out, Dex. I mean what kind of fuckin' sick, psychopathic _mother_fucker does that?"

Dexter nods stiffly, managing to string together enough to work out that there is a new case – possibly serial killer – in town.

_One who wants to make a show of himself._

"I don't know, Deb. There are some messed up people in this world." _I prefer to be tidy and secretive about my work._

"Pack up," Deb applies a manly slap to Dexter's arm before she takes center stage in the room and shouts out to find out who has been chosen to accompany her to the latest crime scene. "Dex, you're with me."

_Great._

Dexter has had that sneaking suspicion Deb has wanted to have some alone time with him for some time, and it probably has something to do with his chosen path of celibacy since losing Rita.

_I'll give her the 'Different people deal with grief in different ways' speech, and add something about not feeling ready to ruin the sanctity of my marriage. She's female. That's probably the type of thing she wants to hear._

The crime scene is an exciting sight for Dexter. He hovers around the body, covering up his awed staring with the pretence of taking numerous photos of the body and the surrounding blood spatter and anything else he deems relevant. The chest of the body – a man of maybe about 30, pity for a life to be cut short, but maybe he deserved it – looks literally as if it has been clawed open, and there is a void where the heart should be, and the internal organs around it look like they've taken a fair amount of damage too.

_I don't see the appeal in mindless violence. I prefer to take my time and make it special. It's kind of like an art. This, I suppose, could be compared to a killer's version of Jackson Pollock. I've never been much of a fan._

Peals of delighted laughter snap Dexter out of his daydream, and he looks up to see his sister, head tossed back and her hand laid on the arm of a built, good looking man dressed in a suit - one of the men he had seen at the club the night he had been after Carlos Mantio - he's watching her reaction to him, quiet and confident, obviously quite talented at wooing the ladies. Something about him sets Dexter's senses on edge, and he finds himself approaching the two of them, barely noticing the giant man beast passing him. Protective big brother instincts kicking in, Dexter plasters on his I'm-being-polite-but-don't-fuck-with-me face and sticks out a hand to the good looking, short haired man flirting with Deb. "Dexter Morgan," He indicates Deb, "Her older brother. Can I help you?"

The built – _but not much bigger than me – _man takes his hand confidently and pumps it, his other hand darting in to the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and he pulls out an FBI badge. "Agent Young, with the FBI,"

_That's a lie. I'm practised in the art of covering up the truth. _"Nice to meet you. What's the FBI's interest in this case?"

"There have been a couple of similar cases elsewhere, we're just following up,"

Dexter nods, but he isn't convinced. Something isn't right about this man, and he's just made it his personal mission to figure out what it is. This seems like the right moment to bid farewell and move on, so he does so, only turning to bump straight in to the man monster partner – _okay, he's a _lot _bigger than me – _of 'Agent Young' There is something in his eyes that sets Dexter on edge. It's as if there's a good person in there, a pure person, but there's something bridled, hidden behind those eyes, deep, deep down. It could be something to do with the job, but Dexter doubts it. The giant offers out his hand, his eyes darting to his partner in a discreet, but hugely telling manner, and he introduces himself as "Agent Angus,"

"Dexter Morgan. Blood spatter analyst," Dexter sees something spark behind the eyes of both men and they share a look again.

"Have you noticed anything... unusual," Agent Angus seems to struggle over the word, as if it has some underlying meaning – are they maybe guilty of something?

Dexter heaves in a deep breath, looking away pointedly, trying to appear casual as he shrugs and blows out the breath of air. "Just someone getting a bit overexcited with some kind of home-made weapon."

"Home made...?" Clearly Agent Angus is looking for some sort of elaboration, and he seems more than willing to follow Dexter back to the body again.

Dexter peers back over his shoulder at Agent Young, who is again leaning a bit to close to Deb.

Masuka is hunkered down over the body, rubber gloves on as he gently pries fabric away from the fatal chest wound. "It looks literally like something has torn its way in there." He fingers what looks suspiciously like claw marks on the chest above the gaping hole, then matches his own fingers up with the five deep gauges. "It's definitely human,"

Agent Young has appeared behind his partner, and they share another one of those knowledgeable glances with one another, and Dexter's mind is made up that there is more to those two than meets the eye.

"Some kind of home made glove weapon or maybe some wicked sharp false nails," Masuka offers cluelessly.

Agent Young crouches down by the body, pulling on a pair of his own rubber gloves that he appears to have gotten out of thin air, and he slips the sleeve of the deceased man up to reveal a nasty looking bite. It's done a little to surely, and again Dexter's senses are set to red alert.

"Is that a dog bite?"

Agent Young stiffens and appears to struggle answering the question, as if the wrong answer could incriminate. "I don't think so," He stands back up again, pulling off the rubber gloves and looks at his partner. "When will the autopsy report be ready?"

Masuka gets to his feet and removes his rubber gloves, puffing himself up ready to reply.

"Who are you?" LaGuerta's voice pipes up loudly, accompanied by the clacking of her expensive heels as she approaches the crowd of men, an air of self assuredness oozing from her as she moves, and she stops a few feet short of the agents, clearly eyeing them up. Whether it's through curiosity or interest isn't exactly clear, but both men appear to shrink away nonetheless.

"Agents Young and Angus," Agent Young answers respectfully, and they both flash their badges. "We were just on our way." Before LaGuerta gets a chance to grill them any more, they turn and stalk off in unison, another too-practised move that Dexter just can't ignore.

"Who the fuck knew the FBI were hiring sexy ass fuckers these days," Deb has appeared by Dexter's side whilst he's been staring down the two 'Agents'.

"Maybe it's in the job description," Dexter suggests in his awkward monotone. He's lost sight of the two men, but he continues to stare for the sake of it anyway.


	3. Mild Suspicions

The motel room is dimly lit by a poor excuse for a strip light, and the air conditioner is doing little to alleviate the closeness of the Miami heat.

"I'd say it's a werewolf," Dean throws down his suit jacket and loosens the tie and top button. "Heart removed, claw marks, teeth marks,"

"I don't understand why there are both," Sam is hovering by the motel room table, looking tall and troubled.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... A werewolf will bite someone to turn them, or they'll remove the heart... So why do both?"

"Changed his mind halfway through?" Dean offers, holding out a beer to his younger brother.

Sam huffs loudly in frustration at his brother's laid back manner, and takes the beer.

"How about that blood spatter guy?"

"What about him?"

Dean shrugs.

There is quiet for a little while as Sam sifts through papers, where he and Dean have circled possible werewolf related activities; muggings, violent attacks, mauled family pets. He presses his fingers in to his eyes and lets out a loud yawn. His eyes flicker to the clock, which informs him it is only 12:30am. Even with all the windows the dingy little room has to offer wide open, the heat is stifling. Sam wipes his brow and announces he's going to use the shower.

Dean continues to pace the room, pensive face in place, contemplating. He takes over Sam's place whilst he is in the shower, deciding he too will have a shower, a cold one, when his brother is finished. He looks through the various scribbles on notepads and circles around articles, and he compares them with a local map they commandeered from a tourist information stop off on their first day in the area. Sam has already started marking the locations of the attacks in pencil, only marking the area where the body was found with a thick, red pen. A silvery line coinciding with an attack that left a night time runner in hospital with severe lacerations to their left thigh – any witnesses are asked to come forward, anonymity will be maintained – and an advert of two missing Bichon Frise dogs are located within a three block radius of the location of the body, and seem to have been reported just hours before the body was found.

Sam emerges from the bathroom looking fresh and revitalized, towel draped over his shoulders, slacks riding low on his hips, and he's busy digging holes in his ear with his pinkie, the most ridiculous look on his face, somewhere between pain and absolute bliss, and he's muttering something about needing to get new shampoo for some reason or another. Dean ignores him, not understanding _how_ a shampoo can be good or bad; you put it in your hair, rinse it out, job done. He allows that Sam has more hair than he has, but that lends him the idea to tell Sam he should get a haircut and stop being such a girl. Dean is feeling particularly on edge, his senses are running amok, and he can't quite put a finger on what has upset them. Ever since they got in to Miami, he's been complaining about just not feeling right. He's made it clear to Sam that he just wants a simple find-gank-leave. Dean keeps using the excuse of the heat, but Sam just gives him that look, the _'I'm your brother, don't lie to me' _look, and Dean usually shows him the finger or distracts him with something else.

Dean stands in the shower for a long time after he's finished washing, just enjoying the cool water numbing his body. He sees the bloodied, mangled body on the insides of his eyelids, and something inside of him stirs. It's time to get out of the shower. Master of disguising his human emotions, Dean busies himself having a shave, figuring he may as well do it now instead of wasting time in the morning, and he guesses the FBI might well get away with the mildly rugged look if Agent Mulder is anything to go by.

Sam is typing away on the laptop, a small crinkle of concentration in his brow as he works. He's put on a vest – thank _God_ – and there is a wet patch appearing where the water is running from his hair down his neck and soaking in to the cotton.

Dean scrubs at his head with the towel, clad in just boxers and a vest top, and he casts his eyes to where he had eventually decided to fold and stack his suit ready to jump in to first thing and dart off to the Miami Metro Police Department Headquarters, and make sure to park somewhere quiet and _safe_ and call for divine assistance before he goes in.

Neither brother manages more than six hours, but it's the longest sleep they have had in a long time; they agree it was probably more like a heat induced coma than actual sleep. It would seem the showers of the night before were wasted, as they both wake up near enough in a puddle of their own sweat. Dean showers again first, arguing that not only does he have to look presentable as a federal agent in an hour's time, but also that he's _older_ therefore he should get to go first on account of the fact that he was born first. Sam offers him a forlorn bitchface in answer to that.

Dean gathers his fake ID badge and stuffs it in to one pocket, and puts his car keys in the other pocket. "See you later, Sammy."


	4. Conversations

**I may have accidentally included a little smidgen of Destiel fluffiness, just because I'm a SUCKER for Destiel, but I shan't lay it on too heavy. Nooo I'll leave that for my other stories ^-^**

Dexter hovers in his lab, peering through the blinds at the closed door of LaGuerta's office, just waiting. He isn't 100%, but if that wasn't the guy from the crime scene and from the bar the night before last 'Agent Young' scurrying through the cosy little home of the Homicide Department, then he is a monkey's uncle. He caught a flash of brown-black hair and the most ridiculously blue eyes he has ever seen in the brief moment the trench coat clad side kick glanced up from the floor, which just happened to be the moment Dexter looked up from the handful of reports he was double checking before he leaving them on Angel's desk. This is a new face. It's not the same Hulk pretty boy he has been with before. The two men file out of LaGuerta's office, followed closely by LaGuerta herself, who is clearly taking more than a professional interest in 'Agent Young' and she giggles sweetly, laying a hand on his arm, and even flashing a slightly curious look at the new man. The trench coat wearing man is standing bolt upright, but his shoulders are relaxed and from the way his head is beginning to drift to the side, he is not paying LaGuerta any heed whatsoever. She notices this, quickly returning all of her attention to the taller and more agreeable of the two, and he flashes her an award winning smile before more than gently tugging at the sleeve of his partner in an attempt to drag him away from whatever fantasy he is having and back to the real world, where he now has to act like a normal human being. Whatever that means. He apparently takes it as shaking LaGuerta's hand, pausing to smooth his hand over the back of hers, and by the way she flushes and turns her face away from him, he is complimenting her, but this seems to rile the taller one, and he actually begins to tow Agent Trench Coat away. Certainly not normal fed behavior, that's for sure. Dexter springs in to action, applying his best power walk as he tries not to look conspicuous in following the agents, whom have already attracted the attention of everyone in the vicinity, and he hops easily in to the elevator, making a 'whoop' noise as he does so, "Hold the elevator!" He exclaims warmly, in what he considers to be a friendly tone. He doesn't miss as 'Agent Young' glares at him unhappily, like he's just ruined his picnic plans, but he simply answers it with a friendly smile and a nod. Dexter tries to think of awkward small talk he can make, anything to catch them out, fixing on mentioning the fact that this is not exactly trench coat weather. His words are cut off as soon as his mouth opens though, as Agent Trench Coat fixes him with the most unsettling stare he has ever come across – and he's been on the receiving end of the glares of a _lot_ of scary people; murderers, rapists, child abusers, wife beaters, _real_ FBI agents – and Agent Trench Coat begins to speak.

"What is it you do?"

Dexter stumbles with his words stupidly with the shock at the unexpected question. "Blood spatter analysis," He gestures skywards as the elevator begins its descent, readying for a cut-a-long-story-short tale of what it is he does in the daylight hours.

"You know I don't mean that," The man's brilliant blue eyes don't flicker, there's a blend of every emotion imaginable and utter emotionlessness in them, and his face is a mask of solemnity.

Dexter lets out an awkward chuckle and scratches at his stubble. "I have a son at home..." All of a sudden, Dexter feels naked in front of this man, like he is looking straight in to his soul and reading him like a hardback book.

Agent Young clears his throat loudly and stamps his foot in an attempt to cover a sharp jab to Trench Coat's ribs. "Cas, enough."

Cas' gaze lingers on Dexter for a very long time before turning to his partner, and for what it's worth, he looks perfectly innocent, like a child caught with chocolate smeared all over it, denying any knowledge of what has happened to the chocolate spread. His face takes on a different quality now, the way in which he looks at Young is almost like admiration. Young glares back, his jaw set hard his lips a tight line until eventually, Cas drops his eyes and his head, like scolded puppy, and he shuffles against the wall of the elevator. "I'm sorry, Dean," He looks back up at 'Agent Dean Young' eyes pleading for forgiveness, and for a brief moment, a look for pain crosses Dean's face, as if the words had brought about a memory he had buried in the past, and he briefly goes to lay a hand on Cas, but snatches the hand back at the last moment and looks away.

"Just... Be careful," The weight of the words as the come from Dean's mouth sets heavy on all three of them, and it doesn't take a fool to realize that these two men are more than just partners in a government agency.

Dexter lets out a sigh of relief as the elevator doors slide open, and the tension inside seems to drain out, and he graces the two men with one last smile and a tip of the hand. Only Dean returns the gesture; Cas is still glum, gazing longingly at Dean as he hurries out of the elevator before the doors close.

Dexter watches as Cas trails quietly behind Dean, shoulders now sagging, feet almost dragging, but he seems to still glide along like some kind of cosmic being. He keeps his head low, but it is obvious even from where Dexter is standing that those bright blue eyes are trained on Dean.

Feeling somewhat nauseous and faint, Dexter opts to take the stairs back up to Homicide, and he rushes to his office and collapses on his chair dropping his head in to his hands until he manages to calm himself down again.

_He knows. I don't know how, but he knows my secret. I can't trust him with it. I can't trust anyone. It never turns out well when people know. It is a problem. And problems need dealing with._


	5. Dead Bodies Everywhere

_**Update: Baba I mentioned before was born, healthy baby boy 10lb 3oz natural delivery! Poor Mammy! DEFINITELY worth it! Sorry for delays; I've been so busy (homelessness and the like ^-^ ) and writers block galore as always! **_

_Saturday morning. Early enough that the street sweepers are still out, cleaning up the mess from the night before. It would seem that the celebrations and good cheer didn't infect the entire city. _

Dexter finds himself once again staring down at another dead body, once again knowing that the detachment and numbness, the total lack of compassion or empathy that he is feeling is shared by no one around him. He snaps shot after shot, moving expertly around the body, zooming in on the puncture wound in the chest, and Dexter knows without being told that the bullets have passed straight through the heart. The blood spatter alone tells him that, and that the shots were fired from a distance, with a handgun that was held with remarkable precision; the killer has done this before. His hand begins to sweep around in the air as he pictures the hows whens and wheres of the shots, then his eyes collect up data before his brain consciously thinks, and he finds himself striding over to a large support pillar, and ducking behind it, making a gun out of his hands and pointing it in the direction of the body. He continues his visual pantomime, returning to the body and crouching down next to the body and scanning it for any other clues. "Someone tried to move the body pre or post mortem," Dexter knows someone will be in earshot and interested in what he has to say. There are a couple of new bodies on the scene, and they're eager to please. Dexter points at the smeared blood on the floor by the body and continues. "It looks as if the killer – or _killers_," He amends, "Attempted to move the body – presumably to get rid of the evidence – but were... interrupted," Dexter trails off, deep in thought, scratches his chin and calls Angel over. "Do we have any witnesses?"

Angel shakes his head in reply, silver sergeant badge bobbing proudly on his chest, and he removes a handkerchief from his pocket to mop up sweat from his brow. "The place was empty when it was called in,"

"No other reports?"

Angel shakes his head again. "Nothing reliable as of yet, bro,"

"That's a pity," Dexter mulls for a moment before returning his attention to the story the blood is telling him.

Four Hours Earlier

"You're sure he's in here?" Sam looks up at the run down factory as if it has personally offended him, nose wrinkling as the musty aroma of the building assaults his nostrils. He's holding a shotgun close to his leg, which he has disguised with his jacket. Not like he needs it in the mid August Miami heat anyway.

It is quite a while before Cas' voice sounds in answer. "There's a very unpleasant feeling in the air," Cas has his face screwed up and his eyes closed, and he almost looks as if he's in pain. One hand is held out, palm facing the building.

"Okay, hot shot," Dean grabs the Angel by the wrist and begins towing him inside. "We believe you." Cas stumbles in behind Dean, and Sam spares a quick final check before following.

Inside the factory, Dean and Sam briefly squabble over who is going to take the lead, but a well practised super fast game of rock-paper-scissors leaves Dean huffing to the back, retreating behind Cas, and Sam up front, tucked away safely behind his shotgun. He has pulled on the coat, regretting that it will probably raise his body temperature to near melting point, but with the express understanding that the possibility of having to make a quick exit and accidentally leaving the coat behind would not serve in their favor.

The three split up, scouring out the expanse of the factory. It appears larger on the inside. A little light is let in through the high set windows, just enough to make out two rows of support pillars running up and down the length of the room and the cement floor, littered with parts of the old machinery that would once have been the heart of the factory. Apparently it has been broken in to by rebellious teens at some point in recent history, because one corner is inundated with empty cans and bottles and there are the sooty remains of a small fire.

Moments after concluding that there is clearly no threat here, they hear it. It's not much to begin with; it's a sound that makes the brothers pause for a moment and trade curious glances, and they raise their weapons. The years have taught them that they cannot be cautious enough. A simple tip of the head in the direction of the noise sends Sam stealthily and near silently prowling around the darkest edge of the warehouse under the window, and Dean takes route from one pillar to the next, fearing too much distance from Sam might present itself as an irresistible – and more worryingly a very plausible – escape route. Cas seems to have all but vanished which in itself is proof enough of upcoming violence.

Sam's eyes snap up to the ceiling of the warehouse; it is a tiny gesture, almost unnoticeable, but Dean catches it, and his instincts switch to full hunter mode.

The follow few moments unravel in slow motion; the sound of the shot rings out around the abandoned warehouse, but the rabid creature simply roars out in pain and lunges for Sam. Amidst yells of pain from the youngest Winchester brother and cries of anguish and attack from the werewolf, Dean shrieks out some kind of threat mixed with a war cry of vengeance. "Cas!" Dean's green eyes cast around the room, searching out the Angel in question. "Cas, keep him still!" Said Angel is crouched down behind a pile of discarded pallets, peeping around the side at the chaos before him, apparently having some sort of internal dilemma as to whether to help out or run away. He appears to come to a positive conclusion and holds out his arm, palm facing forward and the werewolf instantly freezes, his body going rigid, arms splaying out to the side to present Dean with an open target. Dean nods an appreciative gesture at Castiel and props himself against a support pillar as his giant little brother stumbles towards him to remove himself from the firing line. Bracing himself for the recoil, Dean sets his legs apart, lining up his sight to the werewolf's heart, ignoring the terrified yowling coming from the creature, and his face is grim, set with his eyes narrowed in readiness to wince against the probable blood spray that he will be showered with. He fires again, and once more, his eyes snapping shut with each round, and for a moment, there is peace. Whether all three of them feel it is another matter, but Dean wastes no time in barking orders at Sam and Castiel, taking no great notice of the lifeless body slumping to the floor. Cas leans over the body, looking in to the dead eyes with something like curiosity and sadness, and he begins to mutter some sort of a prayer.

This seems to rile up Dean, and he nudges in to Cas with his knee. "Not now, we need to clean up." He's already leaning down, fists clamped in to the blood soaked shirt of the unfortunate lycan struggling to slide the body towards a half open manhole a few yards away, in classic Winchester-stubborn style, when al of a sudden, Sam's voice booms over the scene, a few pitches higher than usual; urgent, panicked.

"Guys, there's someone here."

Dean drops the body back down again, and both brothers look to Castiel for the quick, but stomach churning Angel Air exit strategy. Some manner of profanity is muttered from Dean as his ears hone in on the sound of rowdy, probably drunken, teenagers approaching.

The chain of foul language continues as Dean stalks around the motel room half an hour later.

"They might not even find the body, Dean." Sam, ever the optimist. He's sitting on the end of his bed, watching his brother flitting from one side of the motel room to the other, kicking up a whirlwind of paperwork in his wake.

"Sure, Sam." Dean's arms fly out from his sides in an exaggerated gesture, "They won't notice the dead body laying center stage in the creepy, abandoned warehouse."

"Can't Cas do something?"

Dean sends a look Sam's way that renders Sam not stupid enough to press the issue. Sam fails to come up with a satisfactory response to this, so he resigns himself to sulking behind his laptop and researching any possible leads pertaining to the latest werewolf victim. No sense in leaving town without tying up any loose ends. He casts one final, pensive glower at his older brother before setting his sights on the harsh glow of the laptop screen, silently thanking the almighty ones for the invention of free wi-fi.

**Sooo sorry for the wait and the disappointing chapter! Writers block and all that ]= Once I have a home again and I am settled again, I shall be more able to write! I also had to rewrite this chapter – I shit you not – SIX times because my laptop has a new game of switching itself off if I so much as MOVE, and it deletes the whole blummin chapter! RAVING!**

**On a happy note, thank you all soooo much for reviews/alerts/favorites! X x x X**

**Thank you claudiapriscus (fellow Dexter/Supernatural crossoverer) for your feedback ^-^ En't as good as yours, but I'm having a shot at it =D**


	6. Nameless Faces, Faceless Names

**Just a quickie... this is set before Deb gets offered the promotion to become Lieutenant, and before LaGuerta gets promoted to Captain, hence the super-bitchiness [=**

**Supernatural wise, I'm being sly, and mixing a bit of pre Purgatory Cas with in Purgatory Cas, and bringing back a little of the old Cas, just coz I'm struggling to write new Cas. Boo!**

**Also, I am SO sorry for the slow updates; I NEVER get the time to write, and when I do, I just wanna sleeeeeeeep coz my son won't let me sleep, and I have JUST moved back in to my own place again! Goodbye sleeping on the floor ^-^ Hopefully a permanent residence will help ease my writer's block [=**

It doesn't surprise Dexter that when he runs a quick check on the existence of an Agent Dean Young and Agent Cas _anything_ on the FBI database that it comes back with no positive results. Maybe it's short for something.

"I swear to God if LaGuerta crosses me again today I'm gonna rip her fuckin' head off."

Dexter doesn't need to glance up, but he winces slightly as the door slams, threatening to shatter the glass pane. "Good morning, Deb,"

"She's on my back about these goddam mutilated bodies. The media are on to it already, and she wants to keep it all under wraps." Deb throws herself down on to Dexter's chair and digs an elbow in to his desk.

"Bodies...?" This catches Dexter's interest.

"Yeah," Deb lets out a puff of breath, easing her temper before continuing. "We've got a positive ID on the body in the alley," Dexter suddenly becomes aware of the file tucked under Deb's arm as she wrenches it out and lays it open on the table. "One Viktor Kennedy of Oviedo Avenue, 34 divorced, no children. He worked as a car salesman. Nothing out of the ordinary." Deb slouches back in to Dexter's chair, runs a hand through her loose hair, then toys with the lengths of it, a self soothing anxious gesture she seems to have picked up over the years.

Dexter picks up the file and scans through it, eyes searching for a clue, something, anything that your average Detective Joe Normal might overlook. Not so much as a parking ticket. Nothing to go by.

"I guess the ex wife is as good a lead as any?" Deb is looking in to Dexter's eyes, and he gets an unsettling feeling that she is searching for something. For what? Reassurance? Comfort?

Dexter shifts awkwardly and pretends to be distracted by something in the file in his hands. "Suggest it to LaGuerta?"

Deb rolls her eyes, and looks ready to burst in to song again about the Queen Bitch and how she seems to have taken a personal dislike to Debra, one which seems to have deepened of late and with no discernible reason.

Dexter stuffs his hands deep in to his pocket and twists gently from side to side, biting at the inside of his lip awkwardly. He swipes up a finished report file from beside his computer keyboard and waves it in a mildly dismissive gesture. "Or... I need to give this to her anyway, so I could save you the bother..."

Deb's face splits in to a huge grin. "You know I love you, brother." But the sharp slap on the arm she gives Dexter begs to differ.

Dexter smiles and nods, rubbing his stinging arm discreetly. "Right." He glances down at the open file on his desk. "Could I keep that for a bit? Just have a quick look through it."

"Sure." Deb answers, frowning as she sorts out the papers and closes the file.

"Right." Dexter doesn't hold out the awkward silence any longer, and he slips out of the office, armed with his report.

LaGuerta looks up when the door to her office is broken, she is wearing her usual stern, no nonsense face. This softens slightly as she recognizes Dexter. It's easy to miss as she stands, reaching out for the report Dexter is holding out for her, face set again in business mode, sans the edge of annoyance.

"The Barnes/Staples case," He announces as way of explanation.

"Thank you, Dexter." She flicks through the report, far too quickly to be able to process much, but perhaps it is a subconscious habit. I must go through this later.Maybe the action sets the plan in motion in her head. She looks back up, dark eyes questioning, almost wary. "Is there anything else?"

With both hands stuffed deep in his pockets again, shoulders hunched and stiff, Dexter looks more like a school by in the head mistress' office than a part of the Miami forensic team. He strategically avoids eye contact, furthering the scolded school boy routine, eyes setting on the photographs of the mutilated bodies of the latest case. "The, uh," He gestures to the photographs, "these murders. Has the second body been identified yet?"

LaGuerta shakes her head. "They're working on that right now."

Dexter nods. "Okay. Well, the first vic, Mr. uh, Kennedy?" He points, "He was in the middle of a divorce..." Dexter glances up.

"You think maybe the ex wife might have something to do with it?"

"I think it's a possibility. Maybe a lead?"

LaGuerta nods, and her eyes have taken on a distant quality, it's as if she is trying to process the idea and the possibilities. "I think you might be on to something, Dex."

"Oh, no, Deb mentioned it to me, I just passed it on."

LaGuerta instantly bristled at the mention of Deb's name. "I see. Well. I guess it's worth checking out." She glides to her office doorway. There is a flurry of false activity as she is noticed, and Dexter smiles as he is reminded of a mug he once saw at a crime scene in a music shop. _Jesus is coming. Look Busy._ As files are pointed at and computer keyboards are tapped on furiously, and Masuka darts back in to his lab, white coat billowing out behind him like some kind of scrawny superhero, LaGuerta scans the crowd. Dexter steps up next to her, squeezing through the small gap she has left in the doorway, he glances down and offers her a brief smile before he returns to his lab. She flushes just a little, nods "Thank you, Dexter," then returns to her scoping of the overly busy staff body before her.

Dexter nods before ducking in to his office, and he can't help but be reminded of a lioness prowling in the undergrowth, stalking her prey. The last thing he hears before he shuts the door behind him is LaGuerta's voice shouting out for her chosen victims. Deb and Angel. Unusual combination. But right now, that is the least of Dexter's worries.

Masuka has his eyes buried in his microscope, hands moving seemingly of their own will as he swaps slides around. It's funny, as much of a servile jackass as he can be, no one can deny that he is the best at his job.

"What you got there?" Dexter tries for mild nonchalance.

Masuka flinches, startled from his deep concentration. "Dexter."

"The one and only," He chides.

Masuka launches in to an in depth explanation of the work he is carrying out, pausing for yet another bad euphemism to fall flat mid speech. It is not what Dexter was hoping for. He forces out a dry chuckle a bit too late in an attempt to ease the blow to Masuka. It is too late, and Masuka clears his throat, concludes his speech, then looks to Dexter for a reaction. Again, it is lost to him. Dexter is staring fixedly at the commotion in the next room. "It could bust this whole case wide open." That just brings back mental images of the bodies with the chest cavities

"Dex?"

Dexter glances at Masuka. "You found blood that doesn't match the victim's?"

Masuka nods, and his face twists in to something bordering on annoyance. At least as close to annoyance as Masuka ever gets. "Did you listen to anything I said?"

Dexter pauses briefly before he answers. He allows the bits he heard to meld together in his head and tries to make sense out of it.

Masuka sighs exasperatedly, and holds his hand up. "It looks like the vic tried to fight back – the one found in the alley - at least scratched his attacker. There was blood found under his nails, and it doesn't match his DNA."

"So we have a potential suspect?"

"Yeah." Masuka hesitates. He rubs his face with his hands in a frustrated gesture. "But I'm not coming up with any matches." He leans toward Dexter, lowers his voice to a whisper, as if he is about to tell the secret to end all secrets. "If you ask me; I think it's the ex wife."

Dexter smiles. He nods. _Act surprised, impressed even._ He whispers back. "I think you could really be on to something."

Masuka grins broadly. "I'll mention it to LaGuerta." Dexter cringes internally. He supposes he should really tell Masuka that he has already mentioned the idea to LaGuerta, but Masuka is too much like an excitable child. Dexter doesn't want to steal his thunder. "It would make sense, I guess. I mean, from what I know, this has been a pretty rough divorce; apparently, he's gone as far as to change his will and leave his house and money to this other hot young thing he's started dating. Past tense, of course..."

Dexter knows Masuka is still talking, but the commotion in the office has caught his attention. A white lab coat attracts Dexter's attention, and he recognizes him as the coroner from downstairs. Tomas Laurento. Tomas strides through the middle of the office, staff parting like the red sea around him, then huddling in to groups to chatter excitedly about what is in the file that is held in his hands, clutched tight enough that it might well be The Word Of God itself. Tomas knocks at LaGuerta's door, pauses, then enters. What transpires from there on in is anybody's guess.

"What's going on out there?"

Dexter glances down at Masuka. He is craning his neck, as if it will somehow help him see through the closed blinds of LaGuerta's office. "Well that was the coroner working on the body found in the warehouse, so my guess is it's related."

They don't have to wait long to find out the gossip. Word spreads like wildfire in the department. It is like Chinese whispers.

It doesn't take long for Dexter and Masuka to hear. A half hour or there about. They aren't the only ones with the juicy gossip to hand. Crowds of reporters are creating such a scene in the car park that they can be heard from inside the building. They remind Dexter of a venue of vultures, closing in on the carcass, readying to feed. The analogy even makes Dexter's skin prickle.

The second body – the one found in the warehouse – had been ID'd. Jayden Davies. A hot shot lawyer from Cary & Gideon. Miami's leading divorce law firm.

"Twenty seven, graduated three years ago..." Masuka trails off as he scans through the file that has been handed to him on the victim. "He's the best divorce lawyer in Florida already apparently."

Dexter nods, raises his eyebrows. He is trying to react to Masuka's words accordingly. His mind is elsewhere.

LaGuerta is milling around, giving out orders and trying to ease the horrendously tense atmosphere that had arisen since the new information. She is out for blood with regards to whomever has leaked the information to the paps.

Dexter returns to his office, intent on finding out who the three fake feds really are, and unearthing their darkest secrets. _This should be fun_.

**Just a little one. I am working on this. It shan't be as well written, I fear, but I will do my best (: I will try to write a load and do more regular updates, rather than the super long gaps in between! Sorry ): x x**


	7. Secrets Revealed

**So I am trying to break these chapters down a little shorter, as a friend advized me the big blocks of text are hard to read... Let me know if these are bitesized enough! Thank you (:**

"Another shower, Dean, really?" Sam peers over the top of the laptop, watching as Dean fiddles with the air conditioner controls. There is a splutter in response, and a whir. Then it grinds to a standstill. Dean thumps it in frustration. Unsurprisingly, that fails to kick it back in to life.

"Cold shower." Dean comments, winking suggestively.

Sam's nose wrinkles in distaste. "I don't want to know, Dean." Something on the television set catches Sam's eye, and he turns up the volume. "Hey, Dean. Wasn't she at the crime scene the other day? The guy in the alley?"

Dean is sitting on the end of his bed, scrubbing his hair dry with an off-white towel. He glances up to the screen. He drapes the towel around his shoulders and drops his hands to his now jeans-clad thighs. "Yeah, she was the Lieutenant, I think." As if to back Dean up, a banner flashes up at the bottom of the screen, reading Lieutenant M. LaGuerta, Miami Metro PD.

Both brothers fall in to silence as they listen.

A gaggle of reporters can be seen, all pushing and shouting and trying to get across their own questions. LaGuerta seems unfazed by the pack of rabid humans, and she settles behind the mask of a well practised poker face as she focuses on something unseen beyond the camera filming her. She holds the same air of confidence and authority - clearly a woman used to having power and being in charge - even through the screen, and even the crowd of wild reporters fall silent as she speaks.

LaGuerta introduces herself, then continues, in reply to a question about the two victims. "We believe the two murders may be related, but it is too early on in the investigation to be certain."

A voice sounds above the others, and comes through the speakers of the television set. "People are calling it The Vampire Killings – is it true the hearts have been removed?"

For a brief moment, LaGuerta baulks. It is obvious that those details have been left out of any prior press coverage. She continues as if the question has not been heard. "The victims have been identified, and their families informed."

"Are the FBI involved?"

To the untrained eye, the slight flinch would have gone unnoticed. "I am not at liberty to say. There will be no further questions, thank you."

"The Vampire Killings? Really?" Dean laughs. He throws the towel on the floor between the two beds, earning a disapproving look from Sam.

"Well I doubt Miami Metro are trained in spotting signs of the supernatural, Dean."

Dean drops down in to the unforgiving wooden chair across the table from Sam. "So we've got the guy in the alley-"

"Viktor Kennedy." Sam supplies.

Dean shoots him a look, as close to one of Sam's own bitchfaces as he can muster before continuing. "And the werewolf we ganked the other night."

Sam looks to Dean, eyebrows closing in on one another, and he voices his brother's unspoken question. "Where's the connection?"

"More to the point, do we even need to worry about the connection? The werewolf is dead, usually we track down the monster, kill it, then get out of town."

Sam seems to mull this over for a while. He eventually looks back at Dean, his face creased in a mix of concentration and confusion. "I don't know, Dean. I just don't think this is quite over yet."

"I don't think she knows." Deb has her hair tied back, lifted off her neck in to a tidy bun.

Dexter notices the change in hairstyle, but doesn't comment. He fears the change in subject may earn him another slap. He turns from his microscope to his younger adoptive sister and blinks at her, at a total loss as to what she is on about. In her classic Debra way, she has burst in to Dexter's office, unannounced and clearly in the middle of some mental breakthrough with whatever it is she has been working on, and she has announced her conclusion to the nearest person. "You don't think who knows what?"

"Grace Kennedy." She answers, as if Dexter is stupid for not having read her mind. Which makes Dexter think of bright blue eyes and trench coats, and disconcertingly insightful words.

"Oh." Dexter winces. "Who?"

As expected, Deb bats him around the back of his head. "Viktor Kennedy's almost ex wife. Now widow."

Dexter stays silent.

Deb takes this as a cue to continue. "It just doesn't make sense."

The blank look Dexter answers with earns a frustrated sigh from Debra.

"Have you paid any attention to this case, Dex?"

_To be honest, I've been a little more interested in those fake FBI guys who have been snooping around the scenes. And whether or not they are Kill Room material._ Dexter smiles and rubs his face in a show of over tiredness. "Sorry, Deb. Harrison had a bad night, I've not really been on top form today."

Deb's face transforms to one of pure and utter concern. "Shit, Dex, is he okay?"

Dexter nods. "Yeah, just had a bit of a temperature, is all." He smiles reassuringly and makes a joke about Deb being too much of a mother hen. She has enough to worry about, without fretting over Harrison too.

Deb doesn't agree. She checks the time. "Do you wanna lunch?"

Dexter shuts down his computer and closes and locks away the files he's been working on. With his office key in one hand, and his car key in the other he grins at his sister. "I'll drive."

Twenty minutes later, they are sat in a moderately pleasant Italian restaurant, both making their way through pasta pots. Debra a little more enthusiastically than Dexter. Debra checks around them to make sure no one is within hearing range, then she leans forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "It just doesn't make sense."

Dexter frowns, then relaxes back in to his seat. "Ah. The case." He leans in, close enough so he can hear Deb begin her theory, whisper style.

"Well there's this Viktory Kennedy, the guy from the alley."

Dexter nods.

"And there's this lawyer now, Jayden Davies."

"Right."

Deb again seems annoyed at Dexter's lack of mind reading capabilities. "Jayden was Grace's divorce lawyer." Deb takes a couple of mouthfuls of her food, allowing Dexter to catch up to her train of thought.

"So you're, what, thinking the same person has killed them both?"

Deb shrugs. "It's nothing solid just yet, and I'm not quite sure who. It wouldn't make sense for Grace to kill her own lawyer."

Dexter can't argue with that.

"It would make sense for her to kill her dick ex husband," She looks up at Dexter, "He was trying to get through the divorce without having to give her anything."

"I see." Dexter isn't sure. That would be motive for Grace to kill Viktor, but not her own lawyer. "But they were both killed in different ways." Dexter points out. He checks their surroundings before continuing. "Kennedy had his heart ripped out, the lawyer was shot."

Deb shrugs. "Both went for heart. Maybe there is a mystery woman."

Dexter sighs. He's not convinced, but he's used to Debra's pinball machine style tactic of bringing things together. And give her, her due. She is often right. "So Grace kills her ex husband, and the ex husband's girlfriend gets Jayden killed?"

Deb shrugs. "It's possible."

"Why?"

"Maybe Grace was having an affair with Jayden." She sits back. "It could be something."

"It could be your imagination." Dexter supplies. "Some people are just sadistic, Deb. Lawyers aren't exactly everyone's best friends. It could have been anyone. Viktor was in a pretty rough spot when he was attacked. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It might just be a coincidence."

Deb sighs. "I don't know, Dex." She seems deflated.

Dexter decides to try and cheer her up with ice cream for dessert. He knows Deb is probably right; there is too much of a connection between the two victims for this to be coincidental, but for now, he needs to steer her away from too much constructive thinking for the time being. The sooner this case gets solved, the less time Dexter has to find out about the three fake feds and their killability. And that simply won't do.

Deb is firing off about the possibilities of Grace and Jayden having an affair, which would give motive to Viktor's lover – if he has one – to get even with Grace – if she had indeed killed Viktor. And if she had indeed been having an affair with her lawyer. There was little sense in Grace killing her own lawyer, they had established that, and Deb is now on the mission to break the news to Grace about Jayden.

Dexter finishes off the conversation with his sister and ushers her out of the room under the pretence of needing to do some blood work for the Vampire Killings case _in peace_. He fires up his computer and opens up a half published report on his findings on the case, then glances around quickly to assess the likelihood of getting caught. With the danger level being low to non existent, Dexter opens up the Miami Dade criminal database page and runs a few more checks on forename: Dean, and switches over to his current report to allow it time to find anything of interest.

It's worth the wait. There are half a dozen Dean's – it's not the most common name. They are in alphabetical order. Dexter scans over the name, all presented surname, forename. None of them stand out to him. He clicks them each in turn, and is presented with an unfamiliar looking mug shot in each. All except the last.

Winchester, Dean. - Deceased

Astonishingly, it hasn't occurred to Dexter that perhaps he is from out of town. It turns out this isn't his first time in Miami. Back in '96 a much more youthful Dean was arrested for petty theft by an Officer Hernandez of the Miami Metro Vice team. According to the report, the suspect escaped, but no further effort was made to find him. At the time, Winchester had been a little known and small time felon, scarcely worth the expense of sending out a manhunt. Dexter follows a link offering more information on this Dean Winchester. Credit card fraud, loitering, breaking and entering and grave desecration are just the first in a fruitful life of crime apparently. As if often the case, the earlier crimes are in comparison minor; nothing more than a misguided youth filling out time by being rebellious and a general nuisance to society. Perhaps the notions of a rough upbringing influenced his wayward ways. That often is the way youngsters deal with past traumas; be it a violent upbringing, a tragedy or another trauma. The earlier years of Dean Winchester show all the signs of a bad childhood. The crimes alone are dotted across the entire country, no real set pattern to the areas. The grave desecrations appear patchy at best, the deceased seemingly picked at random. No pattern or discrimination between gender, age, race or even era they had lived in. Dexter wonders if maybe Dean has somewhat of an occult fixation. There has to be a pattern; there always is.

As the years go on, the crimes escalate from theft and disturbing the peace to the good old favorites, torture and murder.

Perhaps the most interesting story told is that Dean has been confirmed dead. Twice. Once in 2005, after he was named as the main suspect in a string of brutal tortures and murders in St Louis. Interestingly enough, he'd been arrested at a crime scene with blood on his hands about a year after that. Another escape, although this time it had turned out a crooked detective had been responsible for the murders. It had apparently been enough to spark FBI interest, and a bank robbery in Milwaukee a few months later, with a number of murders, not to mention a large group of hostages, and again Dean appeared to be the main perpetrator, alongside a certain S. Winchester.

His death had been confirmed a few months after the bank robbery. An explosion at a cop shop in Monument, Colorado had supposedly obliterated everyone inside – Dean Winchester and his younger brother Sam included. Dexter begged to differ.

Curiosity piqued, Dexter looks up on the elusive 'Dean's' younger brother.

Winchester, Sam – Deceased.

Nowhere near the extensive array of crimes of his elder brother is evident on his record. He has been arrested with his brother on a few occasions over the years, but despite most of the time escaping, he had never been on charge for anything. One thing stands out. Two, in fact. But more in depth searching for young Sam shall have to wait.

Dexter takes these thoughts home with him. He puts Harrison to bed, bids goodbye to Jamie, and continues his searching in to the Winchesters in to the early hours of the morning. They are looking more and more like his next projects.

**There we have it, people. A little bit more for y'all. Hope you enjoyed it (: Reviews, suggestions appreciated! Thank you!**

**Christ I'm struggling with this ]= Sorry people ]=**

**Oh, whilst I'm here, the last chapter there were a few mistakes, the main one being LaGuerta's door was OPENED not BROKEN! Sorry!**


	8. Pretty Boys And Their Pretty Cars

**So these chapters are getting a little thin, but I'm trying to get going on the story ): Forgive me, please (:**

**Oh, and I totally lay in to Sammy... I'm sorry Sammy and Sammy fans (: I don't meeeean to be meeean!**

Today starts off like every other day, Dexter handing around his box of donuts and cakes, trading words with those who are interested. He holds conversation for the minimum amount of time possible. He doesn't want to seem rude or untimely, but he is on a mission.

Luck would just so have it that there are whispers of the Feds being in LaGuerta's office again as Dexter arrives, placing down the almost empty box of pastries and watching the vultures descend. He pushes past the crowd, sipping at his coffee, trying to make an inconspicuous attempt at spying. He can make out two suited figures. One a fair bit larger than the other. Dexter lays odds that it is the Winchester brothers. Whom incidentally, according to the research that had taken him in to the early hours of the morning, are certainly holding fake badges. It is time for a quick plan of action.

Dexter swoops in to his office and collects his now finished report on The Vampire Killings case so far. He watches, waiting for the opportune moment.

The two suited men are standing a mere two feet back from LaGuerta's desk, the larger one with his hands stuffed in to his pockets. A telling gesture for a supposed federal agent. Trained to and beyond the limits of a normal human being, slouching is hardly up on the top ten of the FBI Do's list. His hair is surely too long to be regulation too. The shorter one holds himself better. He is more convincing. And he has a better hair cut. He appears to be flirting with LaGuerta as Dexter approaches the now open office door, adopting his usual school kid please-don't-tell-me-off manner as he hovers by the door, brandishing the report as if it is the answer to all the world's unanswered questions. He raps on the door quietly, but it is enough to get the attention of everyone in the room. Three sets of eyes turn on him, two looking surprisingly suspicious, and the third looking more than a little put out. It's definitely them.

"Dexter," LaGuerta says, as way of invitation.

"The, uh, report you asked for,"

LaGuerta smiles as Dexter extends it to her, and nods courteously as she takes it. She looks from one fake Fed to the other, then back to Dexter. "Agents, this is Dexter Morgan. He's our blood spatter specialist."

Dexter shake their hands in turn, almost surprised at the rough, calloused skin that meets his own. Hardly the smooth, well cared for skin of a federal agent.

"I'm Agent Young, this is my partner, Agent Angus." The shorter one introduces them both in turn.

"Didn't I see you with a different guy the other day?"

A fondness more akin to that of a lover, or even a close family member or friend flashes in Dean's eyes as he nods. "Yeah, Moscone. He's new." Dean stuffs a hand in to his pants pocket and jangles a set of car keys. "He's shadowing us on the case."

Dexter nods. If he weren't a professional liar himself, he might not have noticed the tell tale signs. Dean is a well practised in the art of lying too, it would seem. Dexter wonders how he will keep that up when he wakes up in the Kill Room. The thought makes him smile, but he's timed it well enough to look like a response to Dean's words. "Where is he today?"

"Sick day." Dean states. He's almost convincing. He looks Dexter in the eyes as he talks, his only give away being the restless arm syndrome he seems to be suffering from. Perhaps he's in a hurry. What to or from remains a mystery, but Dexter wants to push him.

"Oh?"

Dean nods, and his eyes finally drop to the floor. He's used to fabricating events, but clearly not used to so much interest being paid to the details. "Food poisoning. I think he ate some dodgy sushi." He looks straight at Dexter again. Clearly he's back on a roll again, and has his story straight. There is defiance in those sea green eyes, and it is calling out to Dexter's Dark Passenger. Cas and Sam will be fair game - it seems like they are a trio; if Dex takes one, he's going to have to take them all, because he gets the feeling not clearing the lot of them up would not end well for him - but Dean is going to be the most fun.

Perhaps he will be last. Dex won't have long to off the three of them. He gets the feeling it wouldn't take long for the message to get between them. He could probably manage the three in one night. Given enough planning. And plastic wrap. It's almost like a challenge. Dexter smiles again. He shakes Sam's hand again, then Dean's. His Dark Passenger is positively alight with the anticipation.

* * *

Dean and Sam pause either side of a black muscle car in the lot outside the Headquarters, Dean on the driver's side and Sam on the passenger side. Dean lays an arm across the roof of the behemoth of a vehicle and leans on to it. Sam has his hands clasped together, and he is resting them on the roof of the car, facing his older brother. They are clearly discussing something, but Dexter isn't close enough to hear. He has the back door of his car open, and he is leaning in, poised ready to look busy should anyone appear.

There is a loud roar, then a delicious low rumbling hum as the black monster is brought to life. Dexter peeks to see the vehicle rolling out the lot and turning left on the highway.

A whistle sounds behind him, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Dexter had heard the approaching footsteps. He turns round to face Angel.

"Nice wheels." He is watching the black car as it disappears out of sight. "Chevvy Impala, haven't seen one of those in years."

Dexter glances at the car as it takes a right and looks back to Angel. "Means nothing to me."

Angel looks as if he is about to start wailing on about classic cars and a load of mumbo jumbo Dexter doesn't understand, but he rolls his eyes instead. Clearly, he knows his enthusiasm will be lost on the blood spatter analyst. "Taking an early lunch?" He is holding the remains of an ice cream in one hand, and a take out coffee cup in the other. He chucks the ice cream in the trash and closes his now free hand around the coffee cup.

Dexter checks his watch. He had only strolled in at 10, and he it is showing 11.15 now. "Yeah, got a lunch date with Harrison and Jamie. Should only be an hour or so."

Angel nods. "Nice."

Dexter opens the driver's door and clambers in, pausing to open the window before he shuts the door. "I'd better..."

Angel nods and flaps a hand at him. "Sure, I'll see you later, Dex."

Half an hour later, Dexter is parked up across the road from one of the more shitty looking motels in downtown Miami. Dexter had caught up with the brothers as they fueled up the car and got take out coffees from a gas station two blocks from the Miami Metro Head Quarters.

He tucks his ID card under his shirt and stuffs a pair of latex gloves in to his pocket. He bides his time for about twenty minutes, waiting for any sign of the super shiny Impala and its respective fake special agents. He checks his watch. It's past 1. He will have to come back later.

His phones rings, precise in its crappy timing as always, and he pulls it out, flipping it open and answers it. "Morgan."

It's Angel. He feeds out an address and gives orders to bring his entire kit. "On my way." He takes one final look at the motel before pulling it off and leaving it in the past. For now.

* * *

"So it turns out this Jayden Davies was working a high profile divorce case."

Dean takes an obscenely huge bite out of his bacon cheeseburger and hums. Sam doubts it's in acknowledgement of his statement.

"Get this," He continues, regardless of his brother's ignorance. He spins his laptop to face Dean. "Grace and Viktor Kennedy."

"Kennedy?" Dean says round a mouthful of food. "The guy from the alley?"

Sam nods. "You're gross, Dean."

Dean grins, showing flashes of half chewed food. "But it tastes good."

Sam huffs. "Dean?"

"What?"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm listening." He takes another mouthful. "Lawyer, husband."

Sam rolls his eyes. He glances around then leans closer to his brother, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I don't think Jayden killed the ex husband."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Why _would_ he, Dean? Werewolves tend to go after people who have wronged _them_."

"So, what? You're saying there's more than one?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't know Dean. Something just doesn't feel right about this."

"Fine. Two more days. Then we're out of here."

**I am really not doing so well with this, people... sorry ): Please stick with me (: I do have the entire story planned out, and I think it comes full circle, but getting it down is harder than it should be ):**


	9. What A Tangled Web Sex Weaves

**I am trying to keep the chapters to about 2/3 A4 pages, hope it's not too much/too little. Thank you for the support, guys (: Means a lot.**

**Sorry I am really struggling with writing anything at the moment :(**

"Fuck me that is a lot of blood." Quinn is standing back, gloved hand covering his mouth in a gesture of distaste.

The foul stench of old death is what alerted the restaurant owner to the gruesome discovery, and it is getting no better. Much like Dexter's own modus operandi, this killer has diced the victim up in to nice neat pieces, and packed them away in black bin bags. Unlike Dexter, this killer hasn't bothered to unclothe the victim. Rookie mistake. It's unfortunate for the killer that this restaurant owner missed bin collection this week.

"I think it's safe to say we have a serial killer on our hands." Angel looks up from where he is squatted next to the torso. "Looks like the heart has been removed again. Like the vic in the alley." He shakes his head. "Man."

"Any idea how it could have been done?" Quinn questions from a couple of feet back.

All eyes turn to Dexter. He shrugs non-committally and approaches the body. It is another young man. Again mid twenties, olive skin, dark hair. His once deep brown eyes are now glazed and distant. Dexter can't help wondering what they had looked like in his last moments. With a death this brutal, he imagines the victim would barely have had time to process what was going on before he was dead. He studies the blood spatter for a few moments. "There was a lot of force." He concludes. He indicates the trail of blood leading up the wall. "I don't think he had much of a clue what happened. There are no signs of a struggle." Dexter sighs. He notes the dumpster standing oblivious next to the body. "I would imagine the attacker jumped him right here, and – somehow – tore out his heart on the spot. Some sort of home made weapon, I don't know."

"It had to have been pre meditated." Angel comments. He walks over to the dumpster and side steps out from behind it. "The attacker must have been waiting for him."

"What kind of sick fuck would rip out someone's heart?" Quinn pipes up, still holding back a little.

"I don't know." Angel answers. He looks to Dexter. "But he must have really pissed him off."

Dexter holds the sergeant's gaze for a few moments longer, then moves to taking photographs of the scene.

"Is there any ID?" Quinn turns to Angel.

Angel rummages through pockets, and comes up lucky with a wallet. He flicks through the cards and stops at a drivers license photo card. "Luis Mourinho." He flicks through a few other cards. "He liked to keep fit." He comments, flashing the gym membership card to Deb.

"I wonder if he had any other hobbies on the side that might have ended him up dead." Quinn joins the other detectives at the side of the body. "Am I safe to move him?"

Dexter nods. "Yeah, I think I'm done here."

Quinn turns over the arm of the victim and studies the unblemished skin. "Maybe he owed a dealer?"

"It's possible." Angel answers, pulling out his cellphone. "I'll get them to run his name back at the station and see if anything comes up."

Dexter finds himself staring at the lifeless corpse on the ground. It seems such a violent, frenzied attack. He has seen plenty of gory crime scenes; the DDK ones perhaps more brutal than others, but the methods could be easily explained. These killings seem too precise; the wound is in and out, one penetration, the heart ripped straight from the chest cavity. Even Dexter's mind boggles. He finds himself wanting to experiment. He has someone lined up; an ex con, with three years for possession of class A drugs and an illegal firearm, but his night time activities have so far gone unnoticed by the not-so-long arm of the law. Jason Mews' personal favorites seem to be the younger working girls. The closer to their teens, the better. He picks them up and takes them to a remote shed in the back end of nowhere, and tortures and rapes them for as long as he fancies. Perhaps its their youth that stops them from reporting him; it's likely he threatens their lives. Dexter simply can't wait to get his hands on him. Only a few hours left. He will keep his Dark Passenger sated until he is ready for more challenging prey.

* * *

"So Grace Kennedy is claiming ignorance, or whatever." Debra pokes enthusiastically at the contents of her take out box, and fills her mouth. "Says she didn't know her lawyer was dead. Said she was out of town on a business trip." Deb snorts. "We'll see about that."

"The ex wife?"

Deb nods and sets her take out box, reaching for the coffee cup. "I think it's her. She's got motive and opportunity – she doesn't have anyone to back her up with the business trip story."

"I see." Dexter checks his watch. Harrison should be home soon. He's looking forward to seeing his little man. The one person Dexter actually _wants_ to spend time with. Dexter jumps to his feet as the front door opens, and he scoops up Harrison as he rushes in, closely followed by Jamie. "Hey buddy." He kisses him delicately on the cheek. This feeling he has for Harrison fascinates and overwhelms Dexter. It's not something he has felt before. He knows without a doubt that he would kill for his son. He sets Harrison on the floor and watches as he rushes up to his toy box and picks out a toy train.

"Do you need me to have him tonight, Dex?" Jamie is putting away groceries in the kitchen.

"If you wouldn't mind," Dexter pauses to drop to his haunches and take the cuddly toy Harrison is offering to him. "Thank you!" He turns back to Jamie and smiles. "I have some work I need to catch up on at the office."

"I'll have him." Deb offers.

"Aren't you on call?"

Deb shakes her head. "Not tonight. I'm taking a personal night."

Dexter looks to Jamie. "Is that okay with you?"

Jamie nods enthusiastically. "Sure, yeah. I'll be back first thing."

Dexter smiles kindly. Jamie, he likes. He opens the front door for Jamie and bids her good night. When she is gone, Dexter turns back to Deb.

"Everything okay?" Deb closes up the take out box and sets it aside on the table.

Dexter nods. "Yeah, just a bit backed up with this Vampire Killers case. What with the new body today. Need to catch up."

Deb nods, but she stays quiet. "You going to be back late?"

"Don't wait up."

* * *

The Impala isn't in the parking lot when Dexter arrives. He pulls up his own car across from where he'd seen the black beast and slips his sister's detective badge in to his pants pocket. He folds up the photographs he has printed out of Sam and Dean Winchester and tucks them in to the breast pocket of his shirt.

The motel reception is dark and shoddy, and it looks like no one has bothered to clean it for half a decade. The receptionist is a fat dark haired man with a thick mustache. Sweat marks stain the armpits of his worn vest top, and in between his man breasts. His pants look as if they haven't seen a wash in their lifetime. A faded sign on the grubby desk states the man's name is Frederick Jones.

He has his feet up on the desk and his head tossed back against the back of his chair. His mouth is wide open, and the snoring coming from him is far from pleasant.

Dexter clears his throat.

The fat man awakens and sits up quickly, a clear case of 'Oh shit'. His eyes dart around the room for a moment before he spots Dexter and his face transforms from mild panic to acute annoyance. "What'd'ya want?"

Dexter smiles and flashes the shield at the man. "My name is Jordan Heinrick, I'm with the Miami Metro PD." He explains. He pulls out the photographs, unfolds them and sets them on the desk in front of Frederick. "I'm looking for these men."

"I ain't seen 'em." Frederick snaps.

Dexter smiles again. "Perhaps if you _look_ at the photographs."

The fat man leans forward, not before making it well known he isn't happy, and spends a few moments studying the pictures. "I might have seen 'um." He grunts. His accent is thick and harsh. A definite cockney twinge to it. "What's it worth?"

"I just want to know if you've seen them. It's nothing serious."

Frederick seems to ponder something for a little while, then he nods. "Yeah. I've seen them boys. Rented a room out for the week."

Dexter nods and smiles gently. "Could you tell me which number, please?"

Frederick again falls silent. He glares at Dexter begrudgingly, then looks down at a list.

Dexter peers over the counter, but doesn't catch sight of the name Winchester in the list. He doubts they would be stupid enough to use their real names anyway. Most likely they are under an alias and have paid in cash to avoid leaving a paper trail. Nothing like being caught out coming back from the grave by renting out a crappy motel room to rain on your parade.

"Room 154. But don't let 'em know I telt ya." He sits back. "I don't want nothin' coming back on me, you hear?"

Dexter nods. "No problem, sir. Thank you for your time."

He finds the motel room within minutes. With the coast clear, he uses his credit card to pop the door open. He pulls his flash light from his pants pocket and sweeps it over the room to catch his bearings. Two unmade single beds, a duffel bag by each. A kitchen area with leftover food on plates. A table. _Bingo_.

Dexter heads for the table and shines his light over the scattered newspaper clippings, scribbled hand written notes and, curiously, a map. A few of the pieces of paper have scrawls like a child practising writing on them. He spots one that has 'Cas + Dean' inside a heart, and next to it, written with obvious vigor 'Sam wears womens underwear'. He spots a list with the names of the victims of The Vampire Killings – Viktor Kennedy and Luis Mourinho – and the gunshot victim Jayden Davies. Jayden's name is circled.

The map catches his interest. There are red circles around the areas that all three victims have been found. Only then, does Dexter notice the books. There are about half a dozen, all old, leather bound. Most are shut, but one is opened, with a pen resting between the two pages. Dexter shines his flash light on the book, moving around to face the book properly. He sees a graphic sketch of a body laying prone, chest busted open and a vast cavern where the internal organs should be. Something rings chillingly familiar to Dexter, but he has no chance to follow through with any further searching as he hears footsteps approaching. He can hear muffled voices, but can make out no more than that they are having a disagreement.

He barely makes it out the window before the light is switched on in the room.

"No way, Sammy. It's just around the corner, and I am _not_ leaving Baby there, unattended."

"Dean, it's a fifteen minute walk. We'll be there in not even five minutes if we take the car."

"Might we take a different mode of transport? I feel obliged to offer my services as a means to end the conflict." The voice is deep and raspy, and it sets Dexter's hair on end. He recognizes Dean and Sam's voice straight away. The third must be Cas.

"Cas, you're not gonna mojo us in to the middle of town. Someone might see." _Dean._

"Dean, your lack of faith in my abilities I find more than a little insulting at times."

There is a pause before they continue bickering. Dexter's head is swimming with the overload of weirdness surrounding this trio, and he makes for his car.

**Short and sweet people (: Thank you for the feedback and favorites and the like (:**

**By the way... I am totally lost with this; so far there has been Viktor the ex husband found dead, Jayden the lawyer, and this is Luis, who our lovely ex wife Grace was having it away with AS WELL as her lawyer... **


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